


Blind Trust

by Davechicken



Series: The Emperor and his Knight [8]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: BDSM, Blindfolds, Candleplay, M/M, Non-blood related knifeplay, Sensory Deprivation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-24
Updated: 2016-04-24
Packaged: 2018-06-04 05:50:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6643894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Davechicken/pseuds/Davechicken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Poe wants to try a blindfold on his pet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blind Trust

Kylo frowns at it. It doesn’t look like much. It’s a simple piece of silky, black fabric. It’s pretty enough, and the gesture is certainly… traditional enough… but Kylo isn’t convinced.

“I don’t need my eyes to see,” he points out, as Poe holds the silken thing up. “So how will it help?”  


He doesn’t. He can sense things through the Force. He can tell where everyone is in the room by the feel of their heart beating the living tendrils of existence in a sense that he can’t even _begin_ to explain to Poe. He can feel Poe’s very emotions, can hear if he breathes just the slightest bit too fast. A blindfold is hardly going to do anything, other than look impressive and maybe attractive. For Poe. Kylo couldn’t care less either way.

“Trust me, and try it.”  


Kylo will always trust Poe, even if he doesn’t understand, or agree. He tries to agree, but occasionally his opinion runs away from him and decides it’s going to be in Opposite Mode, or he just can’t understand Poe’s stance on a matter. Still. If it will make Poe happy, he will try almost anything.

They’re both fully clothed, sitting on their bed together. Kylo removed his boots, of course, and folded his long legs like a utility knife sheathing itself. He leans forwards, giving his silent consent, and then realises a little too late that he was probably supposed to shut his eyes first. It’s just not his normal instinct to do it, so he’s left scraping his lashes to close his eyes as the black fabric is tied into place, trapping hair to the back of his head. The knot behind his head is gentle, and the sliver feels secure enough. He opens his eyes to look, and it’s surprising how effective it is. There’s a sense of light-dark around the edges, near his nose, but he can’t really do much but distinguish movement. 

Kylo sits still, acclimatising to this new information, or lack of it. A hand takes his chin between fingers and thumb, a soft stroking and he smiles very gingerly. He can rely on his other senses to work out what’s _likely_ to happen, but he finds the lack of visual input makes him focus all the harder. He feels the way he’s fighting gravity and the dip of mattress to a centre-point between them, the angle of his waist and hips to keep him erect and from falling onto Poe. Conscious of his body again, he knows that his left leg will go numbest, first. He’s tucked it tighter in, and he uses his own hand to massage just above the knee to keep blood flowing through the limb. 

Poe’s breathing is even, if a little rapid. Kylo can imagine the eyes on him, and he wonders what Poe sees. Does he see Kylo’s face turning to the slightest sound, does he see the way he chases all stimulus around the room? A creak of mattress, and his focus snaps there. He hears a little chuckle, and he smiles awkwardly in response.

“You okay, there?”  


Kylo nods, and puts a hand on Poe’s knee, too. He needs the grounding of it, needs the warmth, the closeness of his pulse. He’s _sort of_ maybe seeing why people like this kind of sensory control and deprivation. It means he’s paying so much more attention to everything else, and it also means he’s forced away from one of his primary methods of understanding and interpreting the world. “Yes.”

“I would like you to lie down for me, pet. Do you think you can do that?”  


The sometimes-automatic response of _of course I can, what do you think of me?_ doesn’t even come to mind, for once. Instead he nods, and he feels hands guide him slowly down. He puts his own hands above his head, wrists crossed, a gesture of supplication and obedience. 

He lies down, and his Emperor’s hands move him into place. He can sense him, but he’d have to put a lot of effort in to anticipate his physical movements, or slip into Poe’s mind. He doesn’t ever <i> _take_ </i> thoughts, plans, feelings without permission, though he will offer them up from his own mine to the Emperor’s. Poe has always consented, but Kylo still wouldn’t want to steal without first asking. He knows first hand what it’s like to have your own inner life violated, so he’d never do the same to someone else, unless strictly necessary.

In silence, save for the sounds of fabric and skin sliding together, the aspirations and the low hum of the air recycling unit and electrical lights. The distant vibrations of ship engine, the slow thrum of the galaxy. Kylo feels a strange sense of peace slip through him, but an anticipatory peace. Not one of emptiness, but one of knowledge of things to _come,_ along with an acceptance that whatever **does** come will be good. A weird skip to his heart, and no need to buck, to fight, to beg.

Kylo revels in it. He lets his mind seep outwards into the room, lets himself skim the surface emotions from his Master. He has permission for that, and if he was denied it, he’d find it difficult to avoid. It’s like making eye-contact, for him. Reading another’s most obvious signs, getting a sense of the situation. Right now, Poe feels intrigued and excited, and happily enjoying the power exchange. Poe likes this, too, or Kylo wouldn’t be so happy for them to keep doing this if it wasn’t mutually appealing, but he **knows** that Poe likes his submission, his offered obedience, as much as he loves to give it to him. Poe also feels happier when Kylo is happier, and Kylo feels the same when Poe is, so it’s one perfect, tail-chasing loop. Kylo is certain no man alive is luckier than he is, to find someone as suited in every way to him as Poe is.

Fingers pluck at his clothing, unhooking stays and buttons with care. He blushes hot red under it, loving the thought that under his black fabric is his pale, moon-white skin. Poe’s golden hands contrast so beautifully over his own, and he’s the sun reflecting light onto the satellite that orbits him perpetually, his face turned to Poe’s radiance. He hears the hiss of appreciation as Poe lays his present open in between all the split-wide layers, and he preens and offers himself as openly as he can. He feels his hairs prickle towards the touches, and he gasps in appreciation.

“Good, pet?”  


“Yes, Master.”  


Up, over his torso. One rib after the other bounce under the whirls of his fingerprints. Aurebesh love-letters in the lines and curves. Kylo feels a whole-body warmth, not like his normal arousal. It’s not like an eruption in his middle, more like… more like all of him is awake to the contact. Lips kiss the side of his mouth, and he memorises the taste of tongue that barely graces his own, the sensation stretching out and out.

Like him.

Out and out, over the bed. He melts over it, his Force-presence weaving with everything, alive or not. He feels like if Poe pulled the lamp-cord, it would be a tug to his hair and a light exploding out of his mouth. Utterly ridiculous, and entirely true. 

Poe gets up and walks away, and Kylo follows him, head turning. He doesn’t feel distress at being left, nor does he feel any inclination to get up. He’s held down by nothing but Poe’s will and his agreement, and it’s the heaviest pressure he could ever exist under. It’s entirely perfect, and he doesn’t begrudge it in the slightest. A stretch of his legs, feeling the pull of his tendons and muscles and bone. Being aware of his body, of his place, of his one-ness with the universe. He smiles, and there’s a _snaphiss_ sound that isn’t his saber. A smell of accelerant, and then paraffin. 

“Are you ready, pet?”  


“Yes.” He doesn’t know what for, but he knows that he is. His fingers wind in the loose strands of hair, and then there’s a sudden fire melting through him. It’s a strange sensation, like there’s brief starfall on his bare chest. Drip, drip, drip. He can’t even put two and two together to begin with, not until the momentary burn softens, cools, hardens. He flexes under it, and realises that Poe is dripping candlewax over his bare skin.   


“ _Oh_.”  


“You like that, do you?”  


“ **Yes**.” He does. The pain is very brief, and not even bad. It’s like intense pricks of love, like a meteor storm that falls into the cold sea. He squirms, and begs for more in his posture.  


Poe’s laughter is like the reflections of sunlight from a barely-moving body of water, the dancing patterns and smiling gold. Kylo beams wider, and gasps louder _still_ as more wax draws lines across him. It makes him glow from within, a Light that’s only there for _Poe_ (and is not the **Light** , it’s different), his skin pink and flushed with blood diverted to welcome the connection. Thin dribbles from a flaming firebrand, and Kylo takes every last drop. Takes it, until lips kiss his.

“All gone, love,” Poe tells him. “And I made such a mess of you. Are you going to stay still for me to clean you up?”  


“Yes, Master,” Kylo promises.  


“Good,” says Poe.   


He hears the flick of a switchblade vibro, and then there’s the tiniest threat of worse as the knife plucks each bright splash from his skin. Kylo breathes evenly, letting him remove the splatter-tapestry from him. It catches on some hairs, tugging, but that’s a pleasure, too.

Turns out blindfolds are a pretty good idea, after all.


End file.
